A Remedy for Music
by disneyqueen
Summary: Three months after the great disaster, Christine returns, but something has changed in her. Erik has not been the same since that night, the music lost for him. Can these two broken souls come together and rediscover the music buried within or will they be forever lost in the dark?
1. Chapter 1

**Here is my new story. The Phantom of the Opera is owned by Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lydd Weber and thus I own nothing, but the plot of this story.** **This story is a mix of the musical/movie and the orignal book. Thank you to my wonderful BETAer for helping me craft this story.** **So, please enoy. :)**

A lump formed in her throat as she stared at the ruins of the once grand Opera Populaire. The frame of the building had somehow remained intact though the once polished walls had darkened and had begun to crumble from the damage of the large fire three months ago. Christine Daae's eyes grew wide.

Had it only been three months? It felt like another lifetime. There had been rumors that it would be restored in all its grandeur, burying the ghosts of the past.

She shook her head as the sorrowful reality came to light. It would never be the same as it had been.

Apprehensively, she glanced over her shoulder, but the carriage that delivered her had vanished back into the hustle and bustle just beyond the perimeters of the opera house; the driver perhaps not wanting to be near the haunted place. Still, she could not stop the feeling that he wanted his distance from her as well.

Since she had returned with Raoul to the country estate, most of the servants had kept their distance from her. Raoul had reassured her that it was only a customary social order. Nonetheless, she could not help, but feel that the servants hated her for having risen above them overnight with all those cold stares she received when they served dinner. Yet, pity also shone in their eyes each time they caught her by the grand piano in the parlor.

Christine shook her head, pushing those thoughts away as she coughed into her handkerchief. It was all in her overly active imagination and there were more pressing matters to attend too. The driver had said he would return in an hour's time. She had to move quickly. Taking a deep breath, she pushed onward and entered the place she had once called home.

Fragments of light filtered through the broken windows, illuminating the faded white and pink colors as she stepped into the foyer. Dust hung around her as she moved forward. Her footsteps echoed across the marble floor as she silently made her way toward the theater. Each step seemed to match her racing heart the closer she drew to the doors.

She paused and stared inside the once grand auditorium, unable to remember the last time she had been on this side of the room looking up at the stage. She had loved the anticipation just before a performance as she hid backstage with the others: watching and listening as the lights would dim and the chatter of voices quieted to a hushed silence, everyone waiting with baited breath for the curtain to rise. Even when she had been in the chorus, the stage had been hers, a place where she and the music became one.

Only now the music had died.

Quickly, she averted her gaze, her hand resting on her throat as another cough echoed throughout the silent the hall. Closing her eyes, she could still hear the audience's screams of terror before she and the Phantom had fallen down below into the cellars. It was those same cellars that were her destination as she turned and made her way through the dark, dusty, and deathly silent corridors. Even in the off season, the house was filled with laughter, chatter, and most of all music from the company.

She shivered.

It had vanished and was now only a tomb of unheard music where the ghosts of the past still lingered in the halls. The once familiar passageways had become a labyrinth nearly as complex as the catacombs which ran beneath the building. Fallen timbers had blocked some of them while others barricaded certain rooms. She only prayed that Carlotta's old room had remained untouched as she continued further down the dark route.

Releasing a sigh of relief, she smiled to herself at having found the diva's dressing room unharmed. Quietly, she slipped inside, lit a tiny candle enclosed in glass, and moved over to the mirror and paused, staring at her reflection. She could still remember the first evening her angel had appeared to her through this very mirror after her success at the gala. He had come and taken her down to his lair where he introduced her to his passionate, heavenly music.

She longed to call out for him, but how did she even know he would be there to answer her? It had been three months since the great disaster. How could she expect him to still be here? Surely he would have gone into hiding to escape the mob. There had been no news of his death in the paper, unless the authorities had wished to keep it a private matter. She shook her head. No, he was still alive.

Carefully, she moved her hand down the gold frame of the mirror until her fingers hit something hard midway down.

_Ah, so that is how he does it_. A small smile twitched at the comers of her lips before another cough racked her body. Soon, it subsided as she undid the latch and slipped into the dark and damp passageway. A shiver ran down her spine. It was so different than the golden glow she had seen her first evening.

Taking a deep breath, she started down the empty gray corridor, leaving the mirror ajar to allow at least some light to shine through and guide her, each step taking her deeper into the darkness. After a few minutes, she paused, resting against one the walls. She glanced over her shoulder; the light from behind the mirror had dimmed into a tiny speck within the dense blackness.

How much further could she go without becoming hopelessly lost? She turned back to the path before her. Her eyes squinted trying in vain to see what lay ahead of her. There were no visible sign to indicate what was hidden within the tunnels depths.

"What are you doing here?" A rich, silky voice asked from behind her, a trace of confusion and irritation beneath his words.

Christine's heart leapt in her chest at the sound of his voice.

It was the same voice which still haunted her thoughts and dreams. Indeed at times it had seemed as though he was there with her at the estate calling her and pleading with her to sing for him once more. Each time it had only just been her wild imagination playing tricks on her mind. She tried to turn around, but something kept her frozen to the spot, her mouth dry.

A low chuckle met her ears. "Ah, so even in this darkness you cannot stand to speak to the monster, is that it?"

She cringed at the cruel mockery in his tone. She swallowed hard and shook her head. A blush crept onto her cheeks as she remembered that he could not see her.

Biting her lip, she turned around, her arms flailing out in front of her, yet her fingers only closed around air. Was he not just here beside her? Another rough cough escaped from her throat as she looked wildly around the dark.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

She tried to speak, but the words would not come. Perhaps this was a mistake after all.

"I believe I told you once never to wander here alone. Less worthy souls have become lost forever in this darkness. Let us return you to your world of light, my sweet, Mademoiselle."

A gloved hand slid into hers and began to gently pull her back the way she had come.

She yearned to speak, but his voice had left no room for objections. Still, her mind raced with questions. What was he still doing here? How had he escaped the mob? How had he survived since then?

Before she knew it, they stood back in the former diva's room. As quickly as his hand had slid into hers, its presence vanished, her fingers again curling around air. She looked about the room as though she was still lost in the dark passage, the flickering, dim light still concealing him in the dark.

Had he truly been there at all? He had to have been. Even her active imagination could not fool her senses of sound, sight and touch. She tried to watch him, feeling his presence rather than seeing him as he moved about the room from one table to another.

As though reading her thoughts, he said, "Let us have some more light, as I recall you are afraid of the dark, oui?"

Christine blushed faintly at the mention of the childish fear she had not overcome. He had always been so considerate to her, never making her feel foolish.

The sound of a match being struck and then a flicker of a single flame, unbound by glass, danced in front of her; its light seeming to bounce off the walls.

Her hand flew to her heart as her breath began to come in short, gasping waves. She could feel the heat of the flames on her neck and feel the smoke suffocating her, her heart racing as she tried to cover her mouth from inhaling the dangerous toxins in the air. In the distance, she heard someone calling her name asking after her welfare, but she could not answer. She felt a warm gloved hand slide around her waist, holding her up just as she slipped into darkness.

XxX

Erik's heart jumped as she swooned against him, her head now resting gently upon his chest. His right hand gripped her waist tight as he tried to think past all the chaos in his mind. Was he truly such a monster that he had scared her in the light of the candle?

Apprehensively, he reached up with his free hand to the left side of his face, his fingertips grazing the hard material of his mask. Even with it on, did he frighten her so? No…even in his fits of rage, she had never been frightened by his appearance in such a way. Yet, why had she come back?

Quietly, he tried to rouse her, by calling her name and shaking her, but nothing worked.

"Oh Christine…why? What has happened?" he muttered.

Throwing the match away, he scooped her up in his arms, bridal style. His heart swelled at having her so close, her sweet perfume filling his nose as he breathed in deeply. He turned and moved over to the bed. It had once been a room fit for a queen, but now only the filthy ruins remained.

Gingerly, he laid her down on the worn pink coverlet. He watched her shift and turn as though in a fitful slumber, but dared not to wake her too soon.

What had happened to her? That fateful night, he had released her and the little Vicomte de Changy to happiness. Or so he had thought. If they were so happy, why had Christine come back…alone? Had something happened between the two lovers?

Uncertain, he reached out and grabbed her hand tenderly in his, muttering soothing words to her.

A low moan escaped her lips as she blinked, coming back into consciousness.

Erik released her hand, jumping back into the shadows, silently watching her.

The hand which he had held rose and rested against her head as she pushed herself up, her large brown eyes scanning the chamber as though to remind herself where she was. Her gaze soon rested upon the spot where he hid, a spark of something unnamed in her eyes, as though she could see him through the darkness.

Clearing his throat, he called out to her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded just before a coughing fit came on.

Erik felt his foot take a small step forward, but paused as she held up her free hand in his direction. He waited, anxiously, until the coughing passed.

Christine gingerly placed her hand against her throat, averting her gaze from him.

Erik stared at her, concern filling his heart. "What's wrong, Christine? Why did you pass out?"

She opened her mouth then closed it as though searching for the correct words. Each second seemed to last an eternity as he waited for an answer.

Finally, she looked up at him, but her eyes were now filled with such a sorrow that he could not comprehend.

A million questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but only one slipped out. "What happened, Christine?"

She gulped and glanced around the room until her gaze settled on the mirror passage. A far off look came across her face as she began to speak. "The mob was coming…Raoul did not want to get lost in…the catacombs and there was only one way to escape…up into the fire." She paused and swallowed. "It…was so hot and…the fumes made it…so hard to see…and the smoke…filled my lungs…and my vocal chords-"

"No!" The snarl of denial escaped his lips as he tried to block out the implications of her words.

Yet, he could hear it in her voice when she had spoken. It was no longer the light, angelic soprano he had trained for years, but a stranger's rough, broken one. He stumbled back, trying to grab hold of something to steady himself as he stared at her. In every other way, she was still his Christine, but the voice he had crafted and treasured was gone. His gaze fell to the floor, unable to look at her.

He heard Christine slowly rise from the bed. "Please…don't be upset…Angel."

Erik apprehensively glanced over at her. Anger swelled inside his heart at his own pride as her words ran through his mind, his fingers curling to fists. He was beyond his one chance to make Christine his, he had robbed her of the one the thing they both cherished… her musical voice.

He took a deep breath, fighting to remain calm and controlled. "Why…have you come back?"

Christine shifted, her hands twisting together from nerves. Her eyes lowered to her lap while her body began to tremble. Did she truly fear him? Once more, he felt his temper rise in frustration. He opened his mouth to question her again, but paused as the sound of a choked sob met his ears.

"I…had to come back…to hear the music or at least feel the presence of it again." She gulped and looked away from him. "Music for Raoul's family is only for social gatherings and meant to be in the background."

_And yet did the boy and his family pretend to be patrons of the arts?_ He felt the mocking words upon his tongue but restrained himself from voicing them.

She had sought him out for comfort not for such comments. Slowly, he knelt down and reached out to touch her, to console her. His hand rested upon her arm and she did not pull away.

Tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear, she looked at him. "You are not mad at me?"

Erik shook his head, a growing sense of self-loathing forming in his chest. How could he blame her when he in his recklessness had caused the whole disaster to begin with?

Though he would never admit his folly vocally, the weight of blame still rested upon his shoulders at having single-handedly destroyed everything he had ever loved…including his most precious.

He stared up at her. "Non…I could never be angry at you, Christine. I have only one question. Why did you come back? The life of a Vicomtesse would be a dream most girls would envy, with not a care in the world for anything again. A life any father would wish for their daughters."

Christine's head snapped up, her back straightening in defiance. "My father cared for none of that. Music was life itself for both of us. It was why he asked Madame Giry to bring me to the Opera House to begin with." Another short burst of coughing and then a deep sigh.

"Pardon me; I only sought to speak to a friend. The only one who would listen and has always listened to me even as a troublesome child who was foolish enough to believe in such stories as the Angel of Music. You were always there for me when I needed it most… but I should go…" She stood, dusting off her blue gown. "It was foolish of me to come."

She turned on her heel and made her way to the door.

Erik sighed and shook his head. _Oh…Christine why are you torturing me so?_

He had made the choice to release her to happiness, but now she was here again. Rising to his feet, he asked, "So that is it? Now that you have unburdened yourself you can go back to your precious boy guilt free?"

She hesitated, her hand resting upon the door. "Non, I…I cannot give you want you want."

He made no reply, uncertain of her meaning.

Slowly, she turned halfway around. "You…when you brought me to the lake…." She coughed and continued. "At the lake the first time, you said you needed and wanted me to perform your music for the world to hear. I cannot do that anymore." Her whole body began to tremble from the sorrow which seemed to fill her heart at having spoken the words out loud.

Erik took a step forward. "Non, my dear, you have nothing to feel ashamed of." He paused, deep in thought. After a moment, he said, "And you will be able to sing again."

Her head snapped up, her face tearstained. "What…it's not…"

"Possible? My dear, you must know that the Phantom is all about making things possible. Was it not I who helped raise you to stardom when most others thought you a mere chorus girl…an impossible feat, non?"

A soft, weary smile crossed her face. "Oui, I suppose so, but…how?"

"I have a few remedies which will help to heal your throat and from there we can work on your singing again."

"But where-"

"It would be best that it is done here. The medicines required need to be prepared in such a way that it would not do to be anywhere else."

Christine took two steps back, her mouth slightly agape. "Oh…I cannot go with you…at the moment at least."

Erik took a step forward. Was she merely toying with him after all? Was it the boy or her fear of him that kept her switching her mind at each turn?

He fought to keep his temper under control. "What do you mean, my dear? Do you not wish to even try it?"

"Non, it's only that I promised the driver I would only be an hour." She glanced over at the tipped over clock. "And it's close to that time."

Erik glanced at the clock and said nothing. Time meant little to him. He could disappear before a driver would be able to secure the horses. An entire mob had not been able to find him down in his realm beneath the Opera House.

As though reading his thoughts, she said, "I simply do not wish for another mob to come hunt you down."

"And why would that occur? Most believe me to be dead, including I imagine your precious Vicomte." He spit out the last two words in disgust.

"Angel, please….let me go and speak to him, saying I need some fresh air and time to myself. I am certain he will not deny me that."

"And if he wishes to accompany you?"

She brought her handkerchief up, averting her eyes.

Erik frowned. It would be so simple to take her into his arms and bring her down to his home, never letting her go. Damn the consequences. He had escaped the little Vicomte's traps before and he could do it again with ease. If he let her go, how could he be certain she would return as she claimed?

_Non, it's not reasonable_, he told himself. _You already tried keeping her against her will_.

His lips tingled with the remembrance of her lips freely pressing against his in an act of…pity, compassion? He had known it was not love she had felt, but still the memory warmed his heart. He could not break his own vow to her by forcefully dragging her back into the darkness now.

"Do you truly wish to resume our lessons as it were?" he asked.

Again, she nodded, though her eyes still did not meet his.

"Very well." He moved over, opened the door, and swung his arm out. "After you."

The two traveled back to the main foyer in silence; both of them lost in their own thoughts.

While a part of him was planning their lessons, another part of him was savoring every moment. Over the many years of isolation, he had dreamed of this very thing: walking out in the world with a woman by his side. With the Opera House deserted, he did not have to hide in the shadows when he wished to be near Christine. It was such a simple activity that most did not waste thought on, but he cherished each step he took as they strode down the corridors side by side.

Yet, the dream could not last.

Sunlight floated through the entrance doors.

In an instant, he slipped away from her side, pressing himself behind a pillar, retreating back into the shadows.

"What is it?" Christine asked, startled by his sudden departure. She began to look over at him. "Is something-?"

"Look ahead." He watched her turn her attention back to the entrance. He took a deep breath. "When you come, go to the chapel where you first heard your angel. I will be waiting. Go now; I believe your driver is here."

She nodded, tried to calm a cough, and then hurried outside without another word.

Erik turned, peeking out of a small window, and watched from his hiding place as she stepped up and disappeared into the enclosed carriage. With a slap of the reins, the horses pulled away from the curb and drove back into the bustling city.

His fingers clenched as he turned away from the window, leaning against the wall. Would she return? All her actions had spoken of her delivering honest answers. Even as a child she could not hide anything from him if her words were false. Still, the doubts would not be silent in his mind.

If she lied to him, she would feel the wrath of the Phantom as she had that fateful night.

He shook those thoughts away. For the time being, he had other matters to see about. His home beside the lake did not offer good places for medical supplies to be grown or kept.

He mentally ran down a list of proper herbs and other plants which would be the most useful when she returned. The plants he required were not so easily available in markets or hospitals. Wordlessly, he turned, retracing his steps back down to his home. He first needed his cloak and then he would pay a visit to an old friend who had traveled with him across the globe.

**Should I continue? Please let me know what you think as reviews help me to write. :) Again, a huge thanks to my BETAer. More coming soon if you think I should continue with this story. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is the next chapter. Sorry it took so long and thank you for all your kind reviews. A huge thanks goes to my BETAer. I own nothing, but the plot. The rest of the characters belong to their respected owners.** ** The only thing I claim are original characters and the name I have chosen for the Persian. Since he did not have a name in the book and I have not read the Kay novel, I believed it was my right to pick my own name for him. I hope you enjoy. **

_You will be able to sing again._

Those seven words, like a fresh composition of music, kept circling through her mind. The possibilities it offered were too numerous to fully comprehend as she rode back to the country estate. Yet, her heart ached each time a cough racked her body, allowing the doubts to surface. How could he be certain her recovery in music was possible? All the physicians she had seen never spoke of such notions, only recommending that she drink many liquids to soothe the pain.

Christine shook her head. _Non, he would never lie about such a thing._

The carriage jolted before it came to a halt. She listened it squeak as the coachman hopped down from his perch.

"Here we are, Mademoiselle," the driver said, opening the door.

"Merci, Monsieur." Christine took his hand and stepped down, drawing in a quick breath at the grandeur of the manor in front of her.

Even after three months, the sight still chased away her breath. The exterior of the manor was a simple style of the brown façade, not so unlike the cottages she and her father had slept in during their travels. Yet, the World of the Manor was still new territory full of colorful gowns, polite smiles, and quiet conversations of gossip being shared around t long dining tables. A world she was still becoming accustomed too. She could envision the hushed tones now if her recent trip were to come to light; the words were already crystallizing in her ears.

_What did I tell you? Actresses are not to be trusted. _

_The Phantom's harlot indeed. _

_Oh, the Vicomte made a prized choice indeed. Oh, the shame!_

Non, she could not let the rumors even begin. She turned to the driver and lowered her voice. "Can you please keep our little trip a secret for now?"

The old driver stared at her.

She shook her head realizing the folly of her naiveté request. How could she expect him to keep her secret? His loyalty was to his employers.

With a heavy sigh, she ascended the stairs into the main foyer. The polished oak walls, the deep blue carpeted stairwells, and a few large landscape paintings hung on the walls of the entrance. An inviting glimpse of the world guests were about to enter, untainted by the elements. Still, Christine could not squelch the sense of unease as she unclasped her cloak

"Mademoiselle Daae, there you are," a female voice called from the left.

Christine turned and spotted a young maid hurrying toward her.

"Jocyelle, what is it?" Christine asked.

"Mademoiselle, the Comtesse wishes to see you." The younger girl pointed off to the right down a long corridor. "She is waiting in the parlor."

Christine offered a small smile. "Merci." Another light cough came.

A flash of alarm shone on the younger girl's face. "Should I get some….?"

Christine held up a hand, waiting until the fit passed. "I…ahem… am fine, I shall go see her."

The maid bobbed a curtsey before dashing off down the hall in the opposite direction. Christine stared after her. What could her future mother-in-law wish to see her about? The wedding list was securely in the Comtesse's hands to ensure only the right people would attend. The dress maker had finished taking in the alterations for the gown a few days ago. Had she stayed out beyond the time recommended to her from the family physician?

_I best go see._ She thought, walking through the passageways toward the parlor.

Late afternoon sun illuminated the spacious room. Family portraits hung on the walls watching her as she entered. What would they say if they knew an actress was about to enter the family?

_A former actress_ she corrected herself, _who once believed in angels_. _How could I have been so gullible? Is it true what they say about actresses then? _

She pushed those thoughts away. Her hair rose on her neck as the sound of crackling flames met her ears. Despite the natural daylight, a fire still burned in the fireplace to warm the place. Subconsciously, Christine took a few steps back and forced herself to look elsewhere. Her gaze soon settled on the older woman sitting at a writing desk, a simple green day dress draped over the chair. A few stray golden curls had escaped from the tight bun on her head which was bent over a document.

Cautiously, she moved to stand before her.

"You wished to see me, Comtesse?" Christine said, lowering herself into a curtsey.

She felt the older woman's sharp, blue gaze upon her. While the Comtesse never spoke against her son's choice for a fiancée, Christine still sensed a note of mere tolerance when they were in each other's company.

"Oui, Mademoiselle Daae, how are you doing today?"

She swallowed, taken aback by the simple question, and rose. "I'm doing well, indeed getting better each day."

The Comtesse nodded. "Good, that is splendid as I have a question for you."

Christine froze her throat suddenly dry.

"Are you well enough to attend a small party this evening that I shall give?" the Comtesse inquired gently.

Christine studied the older woman's face. Was she asking sincerely or was it another test for her to fail? An ordeal by fire she had called the act of performing in the Phantom's opera. Yet, now she felt a grander test constantly being set before her in trying to prove herself worthy of bearing all the duties required of a wife of a Vicomte. There was only one answer she could give.

"After a little rest, I would be delighted to attend, my lady." She dipped into another courtesy for good measure.

The Comtesse nodded slightly. "Perfect. It begins promptly at seven."

The quill brushed her lips for a moment before she lowered her head over the document, resuming her work.

Having been dismissed, Christine silently left the parlor and headed out into the gardens.

The open air had always cleared her mind, recalling a simpler time in her life. She enjoyed watching the flowers fight their way through the cold earth waiting for the precise moment to bloom.

Soon, her feet had found their way to an old stone bench hidden with by a small hedge. A few wild daises grew along the sides of the seat like tiny suns lighting up the shadowed patches of stone. She had found this place of reprieve a few days after the physician had deemed her well enough to venture out into the fresh air. It had become her favorite spot on the grounds. Closing her eyes, she allowed the sun to warm her face as her mind wondered back to the Opera House.

_If I do go to him, can he keep his promise?_ Oh, to sing again, she would give the world if she could. Still, a part of her was wary. Raoul would never agree.

"Oh, Christine, there you are," a familiar voice called.

Christine spun, her right hand resting against her heart, and watched her fiancé approach. He was dressed in his usual attire: a pressed white shirt under a navy blue jacket and black trousers. His medium length hair framed his fine face. His blue eyes grew wide with concern, and he quickened his pace.

"I'm sorry, little Lotte, I did not mean to frighten you. Are you well?"

Christine nodded. "Oui, I was just thinking."

Raoul sat beside her. "About what?"

Christine licked her lips. "Just…about the party your mother told me about this evening."

"Ah, oui, it shall be a good time I imagine." He studied her for a moment. "Are you certain you are well? Perhaps we should go back inside."

She nodded and allowed him to escort her to one of the other parlors. They sat down on one of the couches.

"Did you have a good time with Madame Giry and Meg?" Raoul asked.

"Oui, I…" She swallowed, trying to moisten her vocal chords.

"Here, Little Lotte." He picked up a glass of water from one of the tables and held it out to her.

She accepted the glass gratefully and sipped, trying in vain to soothe her tender throat.

"I am sorry I was unable to accompany you, but my father wished to discuss some matters of the estate with me," Raoul explained.

Christine smiled halfheartedly in understanding. Over the last few months, between her recovery and Raoul's family duties, she could sense an invisible separation beginning to occur. Was this a glimpse into what their lives were to become as husband and wife? She swallowed and grimaced. Was his family only tolerating her because of Raoul's devotion? What would happen once she made a full recovery?

_Non, Raoul is not like that_, she reminded herself. _He is just simply busy at the moment just as you were, when you were always at rehearsals before the opening of a show._

"How has your day been?" she asked.

"Quite well. I have been working with my father, though it is hardly interesting."

"I wish to hear of it, Raoul," she prompted gently.

For a moment, he gave her a puzzled look.

Christine bit her lip. Topics of business were rarely discussed between men and women. Had she overstepped some boundary?

Finally, he nodded in consent. "Very well, you always were a strange one, Little Lotte."

Swallowing a retort, she shifted in her seat and listened intently as he spoke of his conversations with his father. She was reminded of her time with her Angel. After their lessons, she and her Angel always spoke of areas which interested them. While her subjects were always some childish story, her Angel's stories were able to teach her something she had not known, expanding her horizons. He took her seriously and explained things when she was confused on a particular matter.

"And so my father signed the contract. It should only be a few days until we hear that it has all worked out," Raoul finished.

"So, what was the contract about?" she asked.

"Oh, it's nothing important, Christine. It was a simple contract nothing special. I…Oh is that the time?"

Christine turned and read the clock on the mantel. It was nearly five thirty. How had it become so late?

"I suppose we should be ready for the party."

"Oui, well I shall see you later this evening then." He stood and took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. "Until then, Christine."

She nodded. "Oui, Raoul."

He smiled, tucking a few strands behind her ear. "Don't concern yourself too much. You will be fine. This party is a small event and your health has improved so much. Just remember what the doctor said. Drinking liquids will help with that lingering cough."

Christine rose, swallowing her fears, and smiled. "Of course, Raoul."

The only liquids at such a festivity would be wine, and she certainly did not wish to make a spectacle of herself by over-indulging. But not wishing to instigate another argument which she never could win, demurely she agreed.

XxX

Christine set her dessert fork down with a sigh of contentment. The dinner party passed with ease as Raoul had promised. Most of her anxieties ebbed away over the course of the meal. She had managed to keep her coughing under control as she carried on conversations with her dinner companions. No one made a comment on her voice when she spoke. Perhaps her voice was not as affected as her Angel and the physicians believed. Yet, when the bell tolled for the gentlemen and women to retire to their separate quarters for the evening, gooseflesh rose on her arms.

Looking down the table, she spotted Raoul staring at her, offering her a reassuring smile.

She returned it before she turned, following the other ladies out and down the hallway into the library.

"It is wonderful to see you, Vicomtesse," an older woman, Madame Debose, said, taking a chair near the hearth.

Christine nodded, unused to the formal address. "I am still simply Christine Daae, Madame. It's so good to see you too. How have you been?"

Madame Debose smiled politely. "I am quite well. I must say you seem to be very well yourself, my dear."

"Oui, perhaps you could perform a song for us," another woman said.

Christine swallowed, heat rising to her cheeks. Another test was being laid before her. Her throat burned. How could she respond to such a request without appearing rude or worse playing into their hands as some joke?

"I would, Madame, but I believe I am still not myself yet." She raised her handkerchief, praying it appeared an act of some modesty as her throat began to tickle with an oncoming cough.

She glanced about the room. "Perhaps… Mademoiselle Helene would do the honors this evening."

"Oui, I hear you are magnificent on the piano." Madame Debose said, turning toward another young, blond woman who sat on the divan.

Helen blushed as the other women spoke words of encouragement.

She cleared her throat. "I play only a little, Madame."

"Oh don't tell me we have two shy women in our presence." An older woman stood and beckoned the blond. "Come play for us."

Christine smiled trying to boost the young girl's confidence. After a moment, Helene stood, perched herself on the piano bench, and began to play a simple, cheery tune. All of the women turned to focus on the performer, seemingly forgetting Christine. She sighed a tiny breath of relief and closed her eyes, wishing the tune to carry away her embarrassment. Yet, only moments later, the feared whispers began; believed to be concealed by the music.

_Not even playing the piano for us._

_Truly she was a diva_

_A failed one at that, my dear._

Each time she raised her handkerchief to muffle another cough, a fresh wave of shame washed over her. What could she do? Was she truly only a ruined diva as they claimed? Was her musical career forever over? She shook her head and tried to drain out the harsh words by tuning her ear to the bright melodies being played.

Yet, the doubts had not quieted even as Christine stared up at the dark canopy over her bed later that evening. Oh how could she have been such a fool to accept the party invitation from the Comtesse? It had all been a cruel trick. While her health had improved, her musical abilities were still beyond her grasp. It was true that in haven been raised in the world of theater, she knew how to entertain, indeed how to enthrall an audience, but those skills were not welcomed in the parlor chambers.

_You will sing again. Come to the chapel_, her angel's had said. How long until she was able go to him? To begin regaining her voice?

Again, she began to replay the conversation from earlier that day. What would it mean for her to have her voice returned to her? In her new role as the future Vicomtesse, returning to the lights of the stage was forbidden. Still, if her voice returned she could properly entertain her guests when they came for an evening event. Perhaps if she were able to recover her musical ability, she could prove herself to the Comte and Comtesse. It was her voice Raoul had fallen in love with when they had begun to rekindle their relationship.

Why would it not happen with his parents and all their friends? In her debut performance, she had brought Paris to its feet surely she could do it again given the proper training. Only one man was capable of molding her voice back to its prior greatness. A plan beginning to form in her mind, she drifted into precious slumber though one question kept circling. Where was her Angel now?

XxX

The cloaked figure slipped between the dense shadows, hiding even from the full moon's glow. As a child, he had loved to wander the streets, safely hidden in the dark of the night while his voice rose toward the heavens. He could still recall his unseen audience calling from their windows trying to beckon the angelic singer to reveal himself to them, all of them spellbound by his one beautiful feature. Then he had still been a simple, innocent child who had run away from home.

How much had changed since then! He was no longer a boy or an innocent, his hands stained with the blood of those who never learned to mind their own business. He had only spared one life for doing such things and at the moment he was grateful he had.

Soon, he found himself standing before an old, brown door. He tapped on the wooden frame trying to enter the tenement, suddenly impatient. Despite the concealment the darkness offered, his eyes kept surveying the hallway. There were certain to be those willing to call the authorities even in this late hour, if it were discovered he still lived. For the briefest moment, he wondered how much his reward would now be. Though the money he had collected over the years from the fool mangers of the Opera House would still be more than any price on his head.

He snapped back to attention when he heard the strain of rusty iron hinges as the door opened a creak.

A single candle illuminated the owner's darker complexioned face. His sleepy dark brown eyes grew wide, and a second later the door opened further

"Come in, come in," the old Persian said, ushering his guest inside.

Erik slipped into the room, hearing a lock click into place once the door closed.

He watched silently as the older man moved about the room lighting a few more candles and pushing away the darkness. The cramped paneled tenement was filled with a Parisian favor with no hint of its owner true origins. Slowly, Erik turned around to face his host. Though the man was barely fifty, years of hard work had aged him. A few strands of gray hair had begun to show beside his natural black. Large shadows hung under his dark eyes.

Erik averted his eyes, suddenly uncertain of how to approach the subject burning on his mind.

"So, to what do I owe this visit?" The Persian's quiet voice seemed to echo around the room, breaking the thick awkward silence.

"I'm in need of your assistance," Erik said, grateful that his old friend did not waste time with social formalities. Having once been the chief policeman to the mighty Shah of Persia, Balthazar knew at times getting to the matter at hand quickly was the most important when dealing with such an impatient employer.

Balthazar turned, heading further inside toward a kitchen area. "My assistance in what? Last time I tried to help you nearly had me killed."

"You knew the risks and you led the fool of a boy down with you. It was your own damned fault." Erik paused. "And you came out of it no worse."

"Why are you here, Erik?" Balthazar asked calmly.

"I am in need of your services and require these items." He thrust a folded piece of parchment at the older man. "I need them as soon as possible."

Balthazar scanned the list, mumbling the words in his native tongue.

"Also known as honeysuckle, lavender, ginger root, and so forth."

He looked up. "These all have healing properties."

"So I am aware. Do you have them?" He reached into his cloak and withdrew a small pouch, a light jingle coming from within. "Or can you get them?"

"Of course I can get them, but why must you have them? I still do not understand."

"That is none of your concern."

"If you require this of me, I wish to know the nature of their usage."

Erik took a step closer. "Are you threatening me?"

"Think of it as more of a trade. You tell me your purpose and I shall help in any way I can." A half smile crept onto the old Persian's face. "Within reason of course."

Erik growled. No one, but Balthazar could make such demands of him. Had another man attempted such a thing, their lives would quickly meet the noose. Yet, in the Persian's presence, the Opera Ghost's image faded, leaving only a frightened young boy who still had not repaid the debt between them. The request was simple enough.

Clenching his teeth, he mumbled one word.

"Pardon? My hearing is not quite what it-"

"Christine. It's for her. I need the herbs for her, Balthazar. She needs them"

Balthazar reached a hand out toward his friend. "Erik, be reasonable. I don't think-"

"She came to me, Daroga. She was the one who sought me out. Surely that must mean something," Erik cried, his voice choking with desperate need. Her broken voice, once more, floated through his ears.

The older man nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps, but what was the reason for her visit I wonder. She and the Vicomte were happy when last I saw them."

"She can never be happy if music is taken from her. I know this, for it is the same for me."

"You swear it is simply a matter of business. That you will not try to take the girl down there with you forever?"

"I made a promise to her and a vow to myself, one that I will not break." Erik took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words. "You have the Living Corpse's promise."

Balthazar grimaced. "I will not take the word of that thing. I will only accept the oath of a friend."

Underneath his mask, Erik felt a misty sensation coming into his eyes before he blinked them away. Society's treatment of him had broken him of open displays of affection even when kindness was offered.

_It's business, you fool. You have no friends_, Erik reminded himself bitterly._ Even Balthazar saving you was simply a matter of business so he could save himself. _

_Then why has he remained here looking out for you? _A small voice countered in his mind.

_Silence! Friends are for fools_, He said to the nagging voice.

With a reluctant nod, he stuck out his hand toward the old Persian. "You have my word, Balthazar."

**Well, what did you think? Please let me know. I hope you enjoyed it, but please constructive criticism is good as well. Look for the next update soon.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy much belated New Year. I own nothing, but the plot. I know it is short, but I wanted to give you something. So, I hope you enjoy. **

"Is something wrong, Christine?" Raoul asked softly, taking a seat beside her in the parlor.

Christine swallowed hard. The whole idea had seemed so perfect when she had awoken that morning: a small sojourn in the countryside for some fresh air and a chance to recover before the wedding. It was so simple and seemed reasonable enough given everything they had gone through at the opera house. After taking breakfast with Raoul and his parents, she had strolled through the gardens perfecting and then rehearsing the speech she had prepared to deliver. She had even thought of writing to Madame Giry and Meg to accompany her in her travels.

Now the words were lodged in her throat. Would the good Lord forgive her for lying to her fiancé? Could she do it, if it offered her the chance to preserve her God-given gift? Surely He would be more ashamed if she was to ignore her talents completely. Had her angel not often told her the same thing over the years? She shook her head, pushing that last thought away. Her angel was no divine being and was to act only as another physician in helping her to regain her voice.

A gentle hand on her shoulder roused her from her thoughts. "Lottie, what is it?"

Christine glanced over at her fiancé. His blue eyes shone with genuine concern. How could she make him understand just how much this meant to her?

Lowering her eyes, she said, "Raoul, please just give me a moment."

He sat back and waited.

"I…I think I need to travel for a bit. Did Doctor Hans not say that a change of scenery would be a good thing for me?"

Raoul tilted his head to one side. "And you wish to follow his advice now? I thought you didn't wish to leave this place."

Christine cleared her throat. "That was before my trip and I found that his advice had some…merit after all. Raoul, here I am constantly reminded to take it easy and rest which only makes me want to do the very opposite."

"We are only doing it for you, Christine. Both my parents and I wish to see you return to proper health."

"I know and this could help me recover even more quickly."

Raoul pressed his knuckle to his lips thoughtfully.

Christine watched the threads of thought flicker behind his eyes. She forced her hands to lie calmly against her lap even as moisture began to dampen her gloves. What would he say now?

Raoul lowered his hand. "Perhaps you are right, but I cannot simply leave. My father has taken it upon himself to set up more business appointments that I cannot miss. We could go in another week or so." He grinned at her, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "I know a wonderful place by the sea, said to be most beneficial when looking for improvement of health and it is quite a sight itself."

Christine smiled softly. As a child, she and her father had spent many summers entertaining the passersby with their music. She had loved the seashore, the calm and the fresh air a stark contrast to the chaotic and malodorous stench of city streets they normally preformed in. She had often imagined returning to that place by the sea. That time was tucked securely away like a rare jewel. But now was not the time to dwell on old memories.

"Perhaps, but…" She cleared her throat. "I was thinking of inviting Madame Giry and Meg to come with me. And as you said you are so busy at the moment."

Raoul's smile faltered. "Or my cousin Katherine and her husband could accompany you. I know my cousin enjoys some time in the country and," the smile returned, "what better way for you both to become acquainted with each other before the wedding."

"Oh." Christine turned in her seat and reached out for a cup of water set on the table beside the couch. Her fingers momentarily shook as they encircled the glass. Even through her gloves, the cold porcelain seemed to calm her nerves though her throat became raw. How could she possibly refuse his suggestion without offense?

Katherine, on the one occasion they had met after the fire, was a comely and sweet natured woman. She and Raoul appeared to have a relationship more akin to siblings than cousins and the Countess had even made Christine ask for Katherine to be the maid of honor. What could she say now? A part of her yearned to protest. Were Madame Giry and Meg suddenly beneath notice when they had been her family for so many years?

The crystal clear water felt cool as it slid down her throat, offering only passing relief. She tensed, sensing Raoul's eyes upon her, watching as though she was made of glass which could shatter in an instant.

Taking a deep breath, she placed the cup down, trying to form her next thoughts into words. "Raoul, I have given up…so much already. Can I at least have this one last time with Madame and Meg?"

Silence stretched out between them. Christine grimaced. Had she overstepped some invisible boundary by vocalizing her wish to see the Girys again? Did Raoul realize how much she would be giving up when she became his wife? Not that she minded, but perhaps that was why she craved to regain her voice now. A way to maintain a sense of herself and a past that she would have to push aside the moment she uttered the marriage vows.

Raoul shifted in his chair. "I…don't believe it is a good idea for you to travel at present."

"You mean with them?" Christine said, barely able to keep the accusatory hurt from her voice.

"Non, that is not what I meant. I have much respect for Madame Giry. She was one of the people who helped me rescue you from that demon's clutches after he had stolen you away."

Christine swallowed a biting retort. "I just saw them the other day."

"I know, and for the life of me I cannot imagine what Doctor Hans was thinking when he allowed it?" He turned to her. "It has nothing to do with them, Christine, I swear. It is just…rumors have been floating about of the Germans slowly encroaching on France. To travel through the city and then back out into the country does not seem the wisest idea at the moment, I am afraid."

"But did you not just tell me that Katherine would be willing to accompany me on this trip or that we could go together? How can those two ideas seem possible to you, but meeting with the Girys makes the whole trip suddenly too dangerous?" Christine sank back into her chair, her entire body drained. She reached for the cup on the table, but even the water did little to soothe her sore throat. It was as though she had just sung an entire opera.

Raoul tried to smile. "I know it does not seem fair, but my family has ways to ensure your safety that Madame Giry simply does not."

Christine frowned. All the money in the world could not replace the love the Girys had and would still provide her.

Raoul continued, missing her disapproval. "And if you truly wish for some more company, I know I am kept away more than you would wish, then I will write to my cousin today and she can come out here and join us. And you have the whole estate at your service to wander about as you wish. Is that not a fair compromise?"

Christine thoughtfully bit her lip. By all accounts his suggestion appeared the perfect solution. Except that she desired more, something that extra company could not deliver. If she even proposed the idea of music lessons now what would he say? But she could at least be honest with this part. "Raoul, I…there is something else I need to tell you."

He leaned closer. "What is it?"

"I…had hoped to surprise you, but I have discovered recently a new vocal therapy." She forced herself to continue, the seed of the idea blooming with each word she spoke. "I was at Madame Giry's when she told me of a doctor she had the fortune to meet not so long ago from…what was it…Persia I believe. He mentioned he had some new methods he had just developed."

Raoul studied her carefully. "And who is this doctor?"

"I…forget his name, but his methods all sounded reasonable." Reasonable though not highly detailed. And now for the hardest bid of the whole idea. "I had spoken briefly to Madame Giry of accompanying me to see the doctor who dwells in the city, but also has a small residence out in the country. He offered to set me up at his home so that he could monitor the medications himself."

"Could he not come out here then? He could stay as our guest if he truly needs to see you on a regular basis."

Christine shook her head. "I…cou…" She swallowed, but even she heard the huskiness in her own voice now.

Raoul patted her arm comfortingly. "Let me think on it and make some inquires before we think about the next step. Did he offer you his card so that I may send him a letter?"

Christine again shook her head.

"Surely, Madame Giry knows the man. Write to her and ask for any more information she may have on this doctor. Can you do that?"

"Oui, Raoul."

"If she can give us the information, then we may discuss the idea with my parents."

Christine shoulders slumped slightly. "Must we? I had…hoped to surprise them at least if these new methods prove successful."

"I suppose…" Raoul snapped his fingers, a boyish grin lighting his face. "Oui, that would be splendid. They will fall in love with you just as I did."

Christine forced a smile of her own even as her heart sank at his last words.  
"And speaking of my parents, I believe my father is expecting me." He stood and took her right hand. "Until later, my darling."

Christine nodded. "Oui, I'll see you later then."

She listened as his footsteps faded from the room and the door shut firmly behind him. She welcomed the silence, allowing herself to sink completely into the chair. She could only imagine the Countess or Madame Giry scolding her for such poor posture, but at the moment she did not care. Her lengthy speeches and raw nerves had taken more of a toll than she at first realized. Even her first night on stage had not drained her so. Perhaps the added exhaustion was her punishment for the half lies she had spun.

Madame Giry did know Erik, of all his skills a doctor did not seem a huge stretch, and the methods he had vaguely spoken of could have been from Persia for all she knew. She remembered him mentioning that he had spent some time there as a boy. It only made sense that he would have perhaps gathered some medical knowledge while he lived there. He had once regaled her with stories of mythical creatures and beautiful maidens when she was younger. But his own time in Persia remained cloaked in mystery. Perhaps she could persuade him to tell her more to help pass the time during her recovery.

A wave of guilt swiftly cut through her. Here she was almost excitedly looking forward to spending time with a, what could she call him angel no long fit, while telling half lies to her fiancé. A man who was to the entire world her knight in shining armor who had rescued her from a creature from hell.

What in heaven's name was wrong with her? Erik…the infamous Phantom of the Opera was a known murderer and had played her like a harp to achieve his monstrous ends. His actions alone had led to her becoming nothing more than a broken music box. How could she ever entertain the thought of being in his presence again?

_He is the one who can repair you_, a voice whispered in her head. _He knows you completely. You will go to him. _

_He has no say in that matter_, she countered the voice. _Raoul loves me even with my voice like this. _

_But his family is not so kind._

_They will grow to like me._

_But a broken voice will not do for them, _the voice quietly hissed. _How shall you make them forget what happened? Who you are, the Phantom's harlot returning to his arms._

_Non, Erik…the Opera Ghost will be a doctor nothing more_. Renewed strength spread through her as she stood like an exasperated mother scolding her quarreling children. Turning on her heel, she strode over to one of the tables and procured a piece of parchment from a drawer. Christine sighed heavily as she began to write, seeking advice from the only woman she could truly remember as a mother to her.

**Please review and I promise the next update will not be so long. And again sorry for the shortness. Next chapter will also be longer. Thank you all so much. **


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